


like ships had come home in me

by feralphoenix



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Autistic Frisk, Benevolent Player, Ensemble Cast, Families of Choice, Houseplant Flowey, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Intrusive Thoughts, Non-Linear Narrative, Nonverbal Frisk, Other, Post-Canon, Queerplatonic Relationships, Sharing a Body, Spoilers - Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6477592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s bright in the room with the curtains half-open, so your reflection is squinting, but you can still see that your left eye is red. You rest your hand on the rim of Flowey’s pot, and in the mirror you see him raise a dubious brow at the portrait you three make.</p><p>“It’s us,” Chara observes through your mouth. Flowey shrugs his little leaf arms, like <i>can’t argue with that I guess.</i> You smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like ships had come home in me

**Author's Note:**

> _(either someone gets eaten or something blows up_ – instead i say: this is my middle finger. it’s very beautifully manufactured. [kindly look at it.](http://marchenwings.tumblr.com/post/138746013959/))
> 
> warnings for references to frisk and chara's backstories and mental health issues - so, implied abuse/neglect, self harm, intrusive thoughts, whatever. also some discussion of gender stuff.

You walk into your room for the first time.

There’s nothing much here. A bed, a desk, a bookshelf, curtains. You didn’t bring anything up the mountain but the clothes on your back and the stick you picked up halfway—you didn’t really have anything to call yours to begin with. This is the first time you’ve had a room where everything is nice—the first time you’ve had a room that’s a proper bedroom.

 _You appreciate the nice carpet under your feet,_ suggests Chara, who you know never had a bedroom of their own at all until they got folded into the Dreemurr household, _and stop reminding yourself of things that aren’t worth your time._ A pause. _Also you look for a place to put this big floweypot down, because I love Ree and you love him, but your wimpy noodle arms can’t take much more of this._

They’ve barely finished dictating to you when something small and cool slaps your forearm—one of Flowey’s leaves. You look down at him to find his face tilted up towards yours, eyelids half-lowered.

“You’re either thinking something sappy or something dumb,” he guesses with the authority of one with utter confidence in their rightness. “Cut it out.”

It’s hard to sign with both your hands supporting Flowey’s pot, so you just smile and nod to both of them and step into the room.

The carpet is soft and good to wiggle your toes into. Toriel let you pick it out, back when you were still living out of the hotel room. It took a while—she didn’t mind, which you’re happy about because it took _negotiation_ to settle on this plush dark green one. Chara’s favorite one had been patterned in ways that made your eyes buzz, and the one that to you felt most fun to rub your palms into made them shriek in your head in that unmistakable bad-texture way, so you’d given up on it with some reluctance. At least the compromise carpet is soft enough for both of you, and there were no colors that either of you hated, so you let Flowey pick the green.

It still makes you happy that you were able to come to a decision that all three of you can live with.

 _The memory of friendly synergy fills you with determination?_ Chara says, the end of the sentence pitching up even in your mind. They wait for a few seconds. _Okay, I guess not._

You shrug and set Flowey down on the windowsill, prying the window open with both hands so that you can get a nice breeze through the screen.

It’s been harder to summon save points since you left the underground. Flowey still can’t do it—you and Chara have still got control over the timeline—but it takes _really_ strong emotion to pull one up. Flowey says concentrating too hard to do it on purpose makes you look like you’re pooping, to which Chara replies _What do you even know about poop, you’re a monster! Have you been creeping on Frisk when they use the bathroom or something?_ and Flowey retorts _All we get in this stupid hotel is the discovery channel, genius, I’ve seen plenty of animals pooping since we left. Stop_ pooping _my party._

The first time that happened, Chara let out a whoop so loud that it hurt your throat, and then they and Flowey went back and forth in the same vein for several minutes, snickering. At last you had to tell them to lay off on the poop jokes before Toriel noticed and you all got in trouble.

“Shit, Frisk, I’m sorry,” Chara said aloud. Then they snorted. _“Oh my god, I didn’t even mean that one???”_

Flowey, also giggling, chipped in “Can’t stop, won’t stop?”

 _Need to stop,_ you said, hands emphatic, but even you were grinning along reluctantly.

“Not sure how to stop,” Chara replied.

Flowey leered. “These poop jokes are like diarrhea—they just keep running!”

Chara dropped their-your forehead to the narrow hotel dressertop, howling. You remember that it was cool against your skin. “Gross!”

 _Terrible,_ you added.

“But Frisk is right, we should get off this defecation train,” Chara said between giggles. “It’s _hard_ to find satisfying ways to _pass_ the time, but I’m sure we can find topics that _stink_ less if we try.”

“Now you’re just showing off,” said Flowey, and you and Chara laughed so hard that it was very difficult to breathe. Thankfully, Toriel returned to the room before he came up with a satisfactory retort.

 _It will be a lot easier to trade dirty jokes now that we’ve got our own room,_ Chara muses, interrupting your reverie.

 _Chara, no,_ you tell them.

 _Chara yes,_ they think back. You sigh.

“Frisk?” Chara says aloud. There’s a rustle of leaves as Flowey turns towards the two of you.

You tilt your head, indicating for them to go on.

“Don’t ever regret this,” they say, low and worried. “You’re stuck with us now. I’m as bad at letting go as Ree is. You chose us, so—so please don’t regret it. I know we’re in the way and it’s annoying to have us here and we might be a burden and everything, but—”

 _I won’t regret it,_ you sign, cutting Chara off. _I never could. You’re my best friend and I love you, and Flowey’s your best friend and you love him. You guys deserve to have your own lives too. I’m just sorry that this is the best I can do for you._

“You’re dumb,” Flowey says. “You’re terminally stupid. We’ve got to deal with the consequences of what we did, that’s all. It’s nothing to get all sappy over. You didn’t even have to do _this.”_

You remember the hard nudge of support you got, the last, when you made your decision.

 _I wanted to,_ you tell him. _I didn’t want you and Chara to get left out of everybody else’s happy ending._

“You’re dumb,” Flowey says again, but it’s very gentle.

A flash in your vision draws your attention to the opposite wall, the one with the door set into it, and you notice that there’s one more fixture in the room that you couldn’t see: A full-body mirror.

It’s bright in the room with the curtains half-open, so your reflection is squinting, but you can still see that your left eye is red. You rest your hand on the rim of Flowey’s pot, and in the mirror you see him raise a dubious brow at the portrait you three make.

“It’s us,” Chara observes through your mouth. Flowey shrugs his little leaf arms, like _can’t argue with that I guess._ You smile.

 

 

The first person you told about Flowey was Alphys. 

When you’d gone back down into the mountain and come out with Flowey in a planting pot in your arms and Chara nestled into your heart where they belonged, everyone else’s faces had been creased with confusion and concern, but Alphys had gone pale and then sweaty. Sans had asked if you were sure you really wanted to do this, and you didn’t even have the chance to try to find a place to set Flowey down so that you could sign _making a happy ending for everyone means it has to be for EVERYONE_ because Alphys had taken a step towards you and turned to everybody else while wringing her hands and said “Just—just give him a chance, o-okay?”

What was good enough for Alphys was good enough for Undyne, apparently, and Papyrus (being himself) was quick to forgive, and the approval of three was more than enough to win Asgore over. Sans looked skeptical and Toriel made you promise to keep a close watch on him, but that was that.

It took a couple of days to argue Flowey around to being okay with you talking about his true identity—“I don’t want their pity,” he snarled, shapeshifting his face to fill his mouth with ugly fangs, and you’d signed back _I don’t want them to pity you, I want them to UNDERSTAND you, like Chara and me do_ —but you went straight to Alphys once you had him convinced.

“I’m sorry,” she said, when you were done explaining. “It’s m-my fault that you had to go through all this. I d-don’t know if there’s anything that I c-can ever do to make up for it. B-but if there’s anything that you n-need I’ll do my b-best to help.”

You and Chara watched with bated breath while Flowey scrunched his mouth to the side, probably considering saying something mean.

“I am what I am now,” was all he said in the end, though. “Asriel is gone. I’ll never be able to feel compassion or love for other people again. But I can remember now what it’s like to feel them. I can remember what the right thing to do is. I’m not going to cause trouble. Asriel wanted to finally give the monsters the happy ending that—that he and Chara tried to get them a long time ago but couldn’t. He wanted Frisk to live in a world where they could avoid killing and being killed. I don’t want to mess that up. I wouldn’t even be here if Frisk hadn’t insisted on dragging me with.”

“Frisk is r-right,” Alphys said, giving Flowey a very brave smile. “Y-you made mistakes, but you’re d-doing your best and you have the right t-to keep trying and be happy if you want to.”

 _“Whatever,”_ Flowey said. “You’re wasting your forgiveness and love on me. You’re not gonna get anything back. Asriel’s dead.”

You wiped Chara’s tears off your face and gave Flowey’s pot a big hug, even as he rolled his eyes at you. _We don’t expect anything back,_ you told him. _We don’t need anything. We love you anyway. All you have to be is you._

“You _are_ still you,” Chara added out loud, stubborn, despite Alphys watching. “You’ve always only ever been you.”

“And you’re just a big _idiot,”_ Flowey said. “Sure, I can do my best now while I still remember what having all my feelings was like. But one day I’ll forget, and what’s gonna stop me from killing everyone you love then?”

You frowned at him and raised your hands to retort, but Alphys interrupted you, pushing her glasses up on her snout.

“Just because you haven’t got a soul doesn’t mean you haven’t got a _conscience,”_ she said, a lot bolder and even bossier than her quiet apologies. It was the same tone she uses to dismiss anime she doesn’t like. “As long as you’ve g-got a strong moral center you’ll be just fine. The um, the stuff you did—it’s because you stopped feeling responsible anymore. You c-can’t reset as long as Frisk is here, and I know you’re not going to hurt Frisk, so you’re not going to get desensitized again. You’ll do just fine, Flowey.”

Flowey seemed to relax at being referred to by the name he’d chosen for his new form, and that was that.

Toriel and Asgore were next, because you and Alphys (and Chara) agreed that your foster parents deserved to know about their son. Undyne was next, by virtue of living with Alphys, and then Papyrus and Sans. All of them forgave him, as you knew they would; monsters wouldn’t be monsters if not for their compassion—all of them but Sans, who said nothing but watched Flowey endure Papyrus’ effusive wonder that his cool flower friend had been the lost prince all along with a beady eye.

You barely had to worry about it before Chara nudged you out of the driver’s seat, so to speak, and gripped Sans’ arm with fingers that shook.

“Don’t be mean to him,” they said, your rusty voice high-pitched under their control. You pushed worry at them; they shot back to be quiet and let them do this. “I mean it. He’s trying really hard and he’s been through worse things than you can imagine. So you leave him alone. None of those ‘ha ha I was just joking’ death threats. I like your puns but sometimes your sense of humor seriously sucks.”

“Whoa, kid, take it easy,” Sans replied, closing his left eye as he removed the offending fingers from his hoodie sleeve. “You, uh, really feel strongly about this, don’tcha? We don’t get to hear you talk too much.”

“Of course I do, he’s _my friend,”_ Chara shot back. You reached for them in your mind, trying to soothe their irritation, only to brush up against gnawing terror instead.

“Chill,” Sans said, patting your/their shoulder. You gently pulled Chara back out of control of the body, before they could get more agitated and make Sans even warier. “I’m not gonna do anything. Yet, at least. Don’t look at me like that,” he went on, chuckling. “I was wrong about you. I could be wrong about him, too. And I’m still rootin’ for ya. That’s enough for me to suspend judgment on our flower buddy formerly known as the prince. I’ll keep an eyesocket on him all the same, but for now he’s got the benefit of the doubt.”

You took a deep breath, more to steady Chara than to steady yourself. _That’s as much as I can ask for, I think,_ you signed. _Just give him time. He’s learned. You’ll see._

“Hope you’re right, kiddo,” he said, and ruffled your hair. You folded your right hand around your left, squeezed it tight, and smiled.

 

 

Every other weekend, you spend at Asgore’s house.

You used to be a little bit shy of him—your meeting with him in the underground had been pretty intense, and despite how desperately you’d wanted to save him, it had all left you at a bit of a loss as to how to interact with him. Needless to say, things are different now.

Chara’s still not allowed to steer in the garden by Toriel’s orders, but while your hands are busy with your little trowel anyway, you let them have your voice. It’s bright and hot—the chirping of cicadas is loud in your ears, there’s sweat under your gloves, and you’re glad of the wide brim of your floppy straw hat not just because Flowey’s allowed to come too as long as he’s sitting on it, but because you can barely see past the shadow it casts.

“That is excellent work, Frisk,” Asgore says from a few feet away. You have to hold the brim of your hat to protect your eyes when you smile at him; his white fur and golden mane are dazzling in the intense light.

“They are getting better,” Chara agrees. The smile on your face is half them—affection—and half you—pride at their praise. “How are the tea flowers doing?”

“Hmm,” Asgore says. You squint to try to make out his expression; the grace of a cloud passing overhead gives you a vague impression of worry. “I have dealt with the preying insects at least, but they seem somewhat lacking in verve.”

Flowey snorts from his perch on your hat. “Too much water, not enough shade. And I _told_ you it’d be easier to just give ‘em sugar water instead of changing the fertilizer.”

“That is true,” Asgore admits. You think he sounds amused. “I will have to try it your way next if there are no results within the next week.”

“Tch,” says Flowey. “I keep _saying_ you ought to listen to me, but _Frisk what is that.”_

You turn back to the tomatoes and their tiny trellises, curious. There’s something small and green on the overturned soil.

“That,” Chara says authoritatively, “is a caterpillar.”

“Well, squish it,” Flowey demands. “It’s gonna eat the garden.”

You squint down at the bug inching its way across the dirt. It has stubby little legs and spots on its back. Smiling, you pull your gloves tight and pick the caterpillar up between your forefingers, watching it curl around your thumb for a moment and then standing up to go put it somewhere safe.

“I cannot _believe_ you,” Flowey grouses. “It’s either gonna come right back or some bird’s gonna eat it, you dope.”

“It’s Frisk,” Chara says, half mocking and half consoling. “What do you want from them.”

“You could at least override them,” Flowey says. “I know _you_ have common sense, Chara.”

“Ehhh,” says Chara. “It’s fine, Ree.”

You set the caterpillar on a tree trunk on the other side of the yard, smile at it, and give it a friendly pat before returning to the tomato plants.

“When we are finished here, let us return to the house,” Asgore offers. “I have made lemonade, and you may have a rest after you have washed up and eaten.”

“You want us to nap at _this_ hour?” Flowey complains. “We’re big kids, _Dad._ We don’t have to go to bed at like four in the afternoon, sheesh.”

“Nothing wrong with naps,” Chara says. You lift your arm up to your hat and let Flowey wrap his roots around it so that you can transfer him to the front pocket of your overalls instead. Chara dips your chin to your chest so that they can kiss his grumpy little forehead. “Besides, need I remind you which of us three still likes picture books?”

“Oh, shut _up,”_ Flowey snaps back. You giggle.

 _I think picture books are okay,_ you sign to them both.

Chara sighs, rolling your eyes. “You two are both huge dorks,” they say, mock-sad.

“Now, now,” Asgore says. He sounds amused. “There is no need to argue, children.”

You giggle again.

 

 

Once Chara decided that they were all right with having other people know about them after all, you expected that they would want to tell Asgore and Toriel first—what with them having been Chara’s foster parents the same way they were your adoptive ones now.

But: _No,_ they insisted, their voice in your head shot through with worry: _Asgore or Alphys. We can talk to Toriel—later. Trust me on this._

 _Well, it’s up to you,_ was all you said to them, dubious. They deserved as much control over the situation as they could have.

Alphys had been confused at first when you said that there was still something that you needed to talk to her about alone, something aside from Flowey, but when you asked Chara silently if they wanted to start and they hesitated, she said “This is, um, ab-bout why you talk sometimes and sign others, isn’t it?” and startled you both.

 _You already knew?_ you asked, so gobsmacked that your signs were broad and messy, and she smiled nervously and fidgeted with her glasses.

“Well, I, uh, I w-wouldn’t say that I already know anything,” she hedged. “B-b-but, you, um, you always have had extraordinary levels of Determination, even for a human. Even, um, now that you’ve left the underground a-and you’ve t-talked to me about losing your, uh, well, at l-least _some_ of your ab-b-bilities to manipulate the t-timeline. A-and I’ve, um, well, I see the way that you behave around Flowey, so, I… uh, I have some guesses?”

You and Chara took a deep breath, and you relinquished control of your voice to them.

“Well,” they said. “I—uh. Greetings.”

Alphys sucked in a breath. “So—so there _are_ two of you, aren’t there.”

Chara swallowed—you felt their tension in your throat as they did—and nodded. “I’ve been with Frisk since they fell. I don’t really understand why it is that they, er, woke me up. Either because we’re similar or because our souls are the same color, I don’t know.”

You think that maybe the other one had something to do with waking them up, too, but you and Chara haven’t even talked about them to Flowey yet. It’s so hard to define, even between the two of you, aside from your certainty of their presence and their aid—especially because even Chara could barely communicate with them at all.

“Well—well, I could come up with some, um, theories sometime,” Alphys offered, wringing her claws, “but—but now isn’t really the time for that, is it… I-it’s nice to, um, meet you formally—would it, uh, be Mx…?”

Your face breaks out into a grin as Chara nods, and they’re audibly relieved when they answer, “Yeah. Yeah, but—you can just call me Chara.”

There was a moment of silence as Alphys’ eyes widened subtly and she raised one hand to her mouth. Your hands shook at your waist, and you reached out to hold your left tight in your right, Chara’s fingers winding through yours.

“I wondered,” Alphys said softly. “I-I mean. I’ve seen the, um, the prince’s tapes. S-so sometimes I would, I would see the way that you move a-and I wondered. But it wasn’t until I heard how you t-talk with—with Flowey that I started to think that, maybe…” She trailed off there, and shook her head. “D-do the king and queen…?”

“No,” Chara blurted, and they clenched your hand harder. “Asgore and Toriel—they. They don’t know. Yet. I’m. They’ll be mad. They’d be—right to be mad. I messed up _everything._ But you—know about As—about Ree. About souls and, and determination. You know what it’s like to, to make mistakes. So I—thought.”

“O-oh my god?” Alphys squeaked. “I c-can’t believe you’d tell me first?? B-but, you should—you should at least t-tell your… your parents. T—they love you, Chara, they’ll understand.”

Chara laughed, uneasy. “Frisk keeps. Telling me that, but it’s. Hard.”

Alphys opened her mouth. Closed it. “I,” she said. “There’s not much that—that I can do to help. B-but whatever you need, I’ll do what I can. _God,”_ she burst out. “This explains so much. A-and I’m—I’m really glad,” she went on, suddenly smiling. “I-I know I was pretty useless as, uh, as a guide. S-so I’m happy that, that Frisk had you with them. I-it’s scary to… have to do hard things by yourself.”

You let go of Chara’s hand and nodded, smiling back at her. _You weren’t useless,_ you told her, _but I was glad to have Chara with me too. They’re as good a friend as all the rest of you are._

Alphys fidgeted with her claws for a moment longer, then opened her arms. You stepped forward, but you let Chara be the one to hug her; she squeaked at the force in their grip, nothing like your own hugs, and patted your/their back.

“It’s g-going to be just fine,” she said. And after a long pause: “S-sodoyouguyswanttomaybeeatjunkfoodandwatchanimebecausethat’swhatIalwaysdotodecompress—”

“If I can have chocolate,” Chara said. “I mean, um—that sounds. Nice.”

“I-I’ll see what I can do,” Alphys replied, chuckling.

 

 

The glasses, when you finally get them, are a revelation.

 _I can see!_ you sign excitedly to Toriel in the parking lot when your lenses darken enough for you to open your eyes. _I can SEE everything!!_

She chuckles and ruffles your hair. “I am glad to be of help, my child.”

You play with the frames all day, unused to their weight over your ears and the bridge of your nose, until Chara is so discomfited with the texture of the screws under your fingertips that they snarl at you and exert pressure to keep your hands on your lap where the grooves of your denim shorts are kinder to them.

“You look like a nerd,” Flowey informs you, but you just grin at him. “Seriously, do you really need these things? Only losers wear sunglasses indoors.”

“They do,” Chara answers, where you would’ve let it slide. “You probably couldn’t appreciate it unless you’ve ever tried to steer their body, but like—you remember what it was like when we went through the barrier, or when Frisk brought you and me outside? How stupidly bright that was?”

“Yeah, so?” Flowey says, crossing his little leaf arms.

“Well, that’s what it’s like for Frisk _all the time,”_ Chara says, holding up your left hand for emphasis. “Now they don’t have to squint everywhere, which is an improvement in _my_ opinion.”

Flowey makes an exaggerated expression of disgust, which, as it’s Flowey, means that it’s very exaggerated and even more disgusted. “Wow!” he says in a sugary-sweet voice. “It sure must’ve been fun for you guys going through the underground after Frisk lost their glasses.”

Chara also makes a face. “Snowdin was a nightmare.”

 _What do you mean, after I lost my glasses?_ you sign, definitely just because you want to get the conversation back on track and not at all because you don’t like to think too much about staggering through Snowdin with your eyes mostly shut and only Chara’s halfway-helpful directions to rely on either.

“Well, you didn’t have any when I found you,” Flowey says, tilting his head far to one side. “That means you must’ve lost them or something, right?”

 _I never had any to begin with,_ you tell him. _That’s why I was so happy when Mom said she would buy me some._

Chara stirs against your assertion of “happy” but doesn’t correct you, of which you’re glad—the confusion, the anxiety, those aren’t things that even Flowey has to know about.

But Flowey is already making a face—half confused and half irritated, typical of him.

“Your birth parents were dumb,” is all he says.

You shrug off the discomfort, even as Chara wraps you up in intangible warmth. _I have glasses now,_ you say. _That’s what matters._

“Hm,” Flowey says like he wants to argue with you, but he doesn’t.

 

 

You took a backseat for Chara to talk to Asgore and Toriel, and they spent their entire confession crying.

You’ve never liked to cry, and you used to hate it when something happened back in the underground to get Chara half-bawling. (They insist that Asriel still used to be worse, and showed you some of their own memories when you didn’t believe them.) There wasn’t any point to tears, you used to think: There was no need to ever show that you were upset, because it wasn’t like anyone would come to comfort you; at worst someone would notice and take advantage of you in your moment of weakness. You’d thought that Chara would have known that, too. Their parents were… a lot more violent with them than yours were with you.

But Chara had spent several months living in the underground amongst monsters before they died, you reminded yourself. They’d ended their life in a place where their tears and their pain mattered to the people around them.

“I’m sorry,” they sobbed, face buried in your hands. “I’m so sorry. Y-you were all so good to me and I messed _everything_ up. Asriel went through so many awful things because of me and you wouldn’t have wound up _hating_ each other if I’d just been—able to let it _go._ I know that there’s n-nothing I can do to make up for it but—”

Asgore got to the two of you even before Toriel did, lifting Chara up into his arms to cradle them close. “There is no need for you to apologize,” he said. “Our mistakes are our own. You must not bear responsibility for them. We are free, and we have you back. That is all that matters.”

“You were with Frisk all along, were you not?” Toriel ventures. They nod—or maybe you do; the distinction between you isn’t very clear right now. “Then it seems to me that we must thank you, instead. Thank you for looking after them. Thank you, too, Frisk—for taking care of each other. We love you both so very, very much.”

If some of the tears that wound up soaked into Asgore’s shirt were yours, Chara never told a single soul about it.

 

 

One of the interesting things that’s happened as a result of monsters rejoining the surface world is that there’s been a great surge of interest in “retro” things from the humans who’ve welcomed them. Up until Alphys fixed up all kinds of new gadgets and appliances for everyone, at least, all monsters had to use of technology was whatever humans had thrown away and made it into the Waterfall dump in one piece. Sympathetic humans have helped the monsters get used to new technology, but monsters’ familiarity with old things makes them exotic in the eyes of young people.

This especially goes for entertainment. You’d guessed as much from Alphys’ Mew Mew obsession, but sometimes all the monsters could scrounge of human media was decades old—while everyone was more than happy to try out new things too, they still had a lot of love for everything they’d enjoyed in the underground. This brought old human fans out of the woodwork, and made new ones out of monster sympathizers, and, well.

Somehow or other this led to the revitalization of some things that were still new when _Chara_ had fallen into the underground a hundred years ago. The old multiplayer game about squids fighting over territory with paint, for one.

“You think of this as _new,”_ Chara says with despairing fondness, “but I never got to play this kind of stuff when I was alive. I was never allowed to have my own video games! _Ree_ was, but he had, like, this ancient SNES and that was it.”

“Hey, shut up,” Flowey interjects from your lap. “You had fun with it. I _know_ you did.”

“Once I got over my _perfectly reasonable disgust_ that you thought Super Mario was the cool new game in _2015,”_ Chara says archly. And to you: “We found an N64 a couple months before we… y’know. He _cried.”_

“Shut _up,”_ Flowey snarls.

You sigh, long-suffering. _How about both of you be quiet, you’re distracting me._

Even as you appeal to Chara’s sense of decency, some sniper splats you because you aren’t paying attention. You groan.

The three of you all share an account, and you can only play games like this that Toriel has approved—she was won over on Splatoon because of its lack of voice chat, apparently, wanting to keep you all from being exposed to anything inappropriate (and probably wanting to keep Flowey from absorbing other players’ trash talk for day-to-day use). You all have to take turns, too, and normally Chara and Flowey are both pretty good about it, but they’re also terrible backseat drivers and as long as you’re not doing anything that will affect your shared rank in multiplayer stuff, they’ll both shamelessly distract you when they want the controller.

Your team barely pulls through despite your own lackluster performance. You sigh and relinquish control of your hands.

“Excellent, my turn now,” Chara announces, already changing up your character’s equipment to suit their more aggressive style. “What’s on ranked right now? Not splat zones again, I hope?”

“No, it’s tower control, so you _better_ give me the controller next,” Flowey complains. “And I keep _telling_ you, that equipment set is horrible for that map. You need a ranged weapon so that you can sit on the walls and attack people from a safe place instead of just rushing straight in!”

“This is more _fun,”_ Chara says calmly, waiting for the server to match them up with other players.

Their team winds up losing by just a hair; Flowey’s spitting mad, but Chara’s giggling at the screen proudly, admiring their high kill ratio. They play a lot meaner than you do, and you feel a little bad for the other players, but… well, they seem to be having fun, at least, and it’s not really a _violent_ game.

“Oh, give that _here,”_ Flowey says, curling vines reaching out of his pot to lift the controller out of your/Chara’s hands. He has to get nearly his whole root system around the big thing to hold it correctly, but he always refuses your and Chara’s help in playing. “Honestly. It’s like you two don’t care about our rank at all. I’m not fighting us all the way back out of C rank again.”

You sit back against the couch and smile.

 

 

“Chara?” Undyne asked, leaning her face into her hand as she regarded you with a curious eye. “Asgore’s Chara?”

They wrapped both hands around their teacup and nodded, a tiny little gesture. “Yes. I’m—I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to introduce myself.”

“Huh,” she said. Then: “God, now I’m actually kinda glad that I forgot my big speech? That would’ve been weird if I’d lectured you on your own story. Frisk too! I mean, I’m sure they knew it all by then.”

You hadn’t, not in full—Chara was too confused and upset to really be forthright about everything, especially by then, when Asriel’s fate had made them ashamed of their plan to get revenge and free the monsters in one fell swoop. But you weren’t going to tell her that if Chara didn’t want to.

Chara tilted their head to the side. “Is—is that… all? You’re not angry that I—that we kept it a secret for so long?”

“Kiddo, I’m not gonna yell at you for something I can’t hold against my other friends,” Undyne said seriously. “But I am curious. Like—did you two switch out like this back in the underground too?”

Chara nodded. “A little. When Frisk couldn’t handle something or when there was something I wanted to do. Mostly I just helped them decide things and explained things they didn’t understand about monsters.” They smiled a little. “I’m the one that likes tea, though. Frisk would’ve picked Alphys’ gross Mountain Dew if I hadn’t wanted to drink Asgore’s tea so much.”

Undyne’s face split into an enormous toothy grin. “Oh, really? Then I know you and I are gonna get along just fine if your taste is good! Fuhuhuhuhu!!!”

Chara smiled a little more, shy, and you gave them a small encouraging push. “I’m kind of—glad that I can finally get to talk to you,” they said, and you felt heat rising in your cheeks until you felt sure that you were as red-faced as they were in all the old photos Asgore and Toriel still kept of them. “Because I really—you’re the kind of person I always wanted to be. Good. A real hero. Somebody who can actually help people.”

Undyne set her teacup down, her eyebrows raised. “Kid,” she said. “Would you believe me if I said that I only got to be the kinda person I am because of _you?”_

Chara whipped your head up to stare at her directly. “What do you mean?”

“I grew up learning how to fight from your dad,” she told them. “I know from Alphys that the truth was a little messier than all our pretty stories, but all the same, you and the prince gave up your lives trying to free us. I wanted to be the kind of hero you guys tried to be for us when you guys were just kids. Like—when Frisk told me that anime isn’t real after all, I figured that there’d still been _one_ human in real life who was cool.”

Chara’s blush deepened, your ears burning. They dropped their gaze to their teacup again. “I’m not—as good a person as all that.”

“Nah, I know that,” Undyne said, as gentle as you’d ever heard her. “Nobody is! I’m probably not as great as you think I am either. People aren’t perfect. But you tried to help us, and you _did_ help my friend Frisk here, so you’re good in my book, Chara.”

She reached out and patted their head then, and your shared heart turned over in your chest.

 _I told you she’d like you just fine,_ you said.

 _Shut up,_ they told you, but it was the same loving tone Flowey always used when he didn’t really mean it, so you just beamed back at them.

 

 

In September, you go to Toriel’s school.

Of course Chara has to come along, being attached to your body and all, but you’re surprised when Toriel insists that Flowey attend as well. She simply raises her eyebrows at the three of you, and reminds you that Flowey, too, is still a child and deserves the opportunity to learn.

“But _Mom,”_ Flowey whines, and you privately decide you can’t argue with her.

You and Chara are both anxious all the way up until you’re sitting at your first class, but this isn’t anything like any school that either of you have ever been to before. Toriel has your seats all arranged in a wide circle around her and her chalkboard, instead of the neat rows that Chara says were thought up for the sake of observing prisoners in jails. She lets you interrupt if you have questions; she lets you take breaks to play or rest. She has big squishy bean chairs set out for the students whose bodies won’t let them sit at desks, and she has small toys set out for you and the other kids like you to stim with when you can’t stand to sit with your hands quiet for any longer. Ancient monster runes and sign language are taught alongside English and Spanish.

Most of your classmates are monsters—even as supportive of monsters so many humans are, a lot of parents apparently want to see how Toriel’s school goes for the first few years before they start sending their children to attend here. There are a few humans, though: Some of them are autistic like you or otherwise neurodivergent, and Toriel won their parents’ trust by being willing to make the compromises that they need to have an environment they can learn in. Some of them—have to come from circumstances like yours and Chara’s, you think, because they shy away from adults or act out, and Toriel is as gentle with them as she is firm. Some of them are, as far as you can tell, normal—whatever that means. Their parents obviously just believe very much in monsters and reintegration.

Homework is still not very much fun, but you like school.

Most of the time.

“Seriously?” says one of your monster classmates, th— _his_ eyes merry, you correct yourself even as your stomach churns, _his_ because he just decided on his gender over the weekend and that’s how this whole awful conversation started, no matter how upset you are there’s nothing that excuses you using the wrong pronouns for him. You would be upset no matter what if he made the same mistake. You _know_ Chara would. “You gotta be kidding me! What do you mean, humans pick their kids’ genders for ‘em? That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard! Like I’d believe a joke that ridiculous! Good one, man!”

“Uh, yo…” MK says from beside you. They see, though your classmate doesn’t, how your knuckles have gone white on the straps of your bag as you think about the medical records that Sans bullied out of your biological parents, all the Fs with circles around them and your birth certificate that alone says something different, the first and only proof for ten years that you don’t fit neatly into any of their boxes.

You expect Chara to boil up and say something sharp and rude in your defense. Instead, their side of your mind is white noise; their left hand is a fist on the front of your shirt and their memory is looping something that burns—

— _hee hee, geez Chara, not even I’m dumb enough to fall for that one!—_

—and you bite your lip and remind yourself that you’ve got to be the ambassador, so how can you do such an important job if a little misunderstanding like this makes you cry, but—

“Shut up!” Flowey snarls from atop his desk, turning heads. “I don’t _care_ how dumb it sounds, that doesn’t give you the right to be a butthead about it! There’s no way for _us_ to understand how hard it is to have somebody decide on something that important without our permission. So back off!”

Your vision blurs, and you sniffle. You hastily remove your glasses and wipe them on your shirt, scrubbing the back of your wrist over your eyes before putting them back on.

The monster boy had opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but now he looks back at you, and shuts it. His feathery brow is furrowed.

“Sorry,” he says at last. “You’re right, I don’t get it. But I didn’t mean to upset you. My bad.”

You nod to him, and he goes off to return to his own circle of friends.

“Yo, that was real cool of you,” MK tells Flowey, who looks away and grumbles.

Chara flickers in the periphery of your thoughts, a question, and you let them step into control. They reach out to rest their left hand along the rim of Flowey’s pot, fingers still shaking.

“Thank you,” they say in a tiny, shaky voice.

Flowey tilts his head towards you both, just slightly, then casts his gaze down towards the floor. He slumps after that, his stripy stem bending until his forehead rests against Chara’s knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” he says, so small you can barely hear it. The pain that wrenches your chest is all Chara this time; the tears on your cheeks are theirs, too.

 

 

Both of you felt bad that you hadn’t told Papyrus sooner, but the thing was that telling Papyrus was the same thing as telling Sans, and you’d known since the truth came out about Flowey that Chara was afraid of Sans, so you didn’t push or complain even though it meant Papyrus was last on the list.

You had to take over for Chara in places, their nervousness making their voice fail you, and when the story was told in full, you were the one who had to raise your head to look at the skeletons watching you from the couch across the table.

“So that’s it,” Sans said, closing his left eye. “That’s the last of your big secrets.”

It sounded like a statement, but you were both pretty sure it was a question, so you nodded.

“That definitely answers a lot of questions,” he said, slouching back against the cushions. “Raises some other ones too, but, uh, I guess you wouldn’t have a _ghost_ of an explanation for a lot of those.”

You smiled a little, but just a little. Chara, who was the real bad joke aficionado between you, did not relax even a little bit.

“Oh my god,” Papyrus exclaimed, frowning at his brother. “Sans, must you be so emotionally constipated? You don’t even have a digestive tract to block up with your emotions in the first place!! Here we are formally meeting the very cool friend of two of our other cool friends for the first time, and you decide to act all stone-faced and intimidating!! I do not know what kind of _bone_ you have to pick with Chara, but surely you can save it for a more appropriate date??”

Sans snickered. “Hey Pap, did I just hear you making a joke?”

Papyrus stamped his foot against the carpet. “Sans!!! I am making a great personal sacrifice in order to lighten the atmosphere! And you! Are ruining it!!”

“’S what brothers do,” Sans said with a shrug, sinking down further in the cushions. Papyrus sighed theatrically.

“Well!” he said, extending a hand jovially. “I, for one!! Am very excited to meet you at last, Chara! Though you have surely experienced my greatness through Frisk, I will now be able to share it with you knowingly! The great Papyrus is always ready to make more friends!”

Chara looked over at Sans once before reaching out and taking Papyrus’ hand.

“Do not worry about my brother,” Papyrus reassured, shaking Chara’s hand energetically. “He is cagey and bothersome but on the whole does not mean any harm.”

“Hm,” Chara said, sounding unconvinced. Well—Sans’ threats had made even _your_ blood run cold. You couldn’t really blame Chara for being wary of a grown-up they thought of as hostile.

“Ehhh, my brother’s right,” Sans said from down in the cushions. “You care about your friends as much as I care about mine. And I’m glad you two finally decided to come clean. I appreciate the honesty. Helps to understand better what’s been goin’ on.” He opened his eyes a crack. “Neither one of you has any LOVE. So I doubt that it was just _one_ of you that gained love instead. You made some pretty big mistakes in the past, kid, but whether it’s your idea or Frisk’s to stick on the wagon, you don’t seem to be repeating them. That’s enough to be getting on with.” There he paused, opening his eyes wider, staring. Your cheeks felt stiff; Chara’s expression was frozen in the long thin smile they tended to default to under stress, or when they were upset or afraid and didn’t want it to show. “Ah,” said Sans. “Hm. If that part was _you,_ buddo, then that answers a few more questions. Makes me feel better about things, too.”

“Ignore him,” Papyrus advised. “My brother likes to make cryptic and vaguely condescending remarks because he thinks that his job as the Judge entitles him to do so. But!! I believe that what he is getting at is the same thing that I and most other monsters think. That is! That the most important thing is that you are trying to be the best person you can be right now! And you are clearly performing at this admirably!!”

“More ‘r less,” Sans grunted from his slouch, closing his eyes again.

“Now!!” Papyrus said, standing with a flourish and spreading his arms wide. “Come here so that I may greet you with a friendly hug!!!!”

 _Go ahead,_ you encouraged, so Chara got up from their seat. Papyrus wrapped his arms around them and lifted up with such enthusiasm that they squeaked a little, gripping Papyrus’ shirt as much to avoid falling as to reciprocate the affection.

And, as if to demonstrate his trust that neither you nor Chara would do anything to harm Papyrus, Sans began to snore gently from his spot on the couch.

 

 

Looking at the menorah set in the windowsill makes you both happy, but there’s a strange sense of uneasiness in Chara too—something beyond just the way they feel like they have to correct you that it’s a _hanukiah_ every time you think of it like that.

“Stop scratching your arms,” Flowey says one night, at last, making you both jump. “I don’t know if you’ve got some dumb human disease or what, but it’s driving me up the wall. Cut it out.”

You stretch your hands out experimentally and then close them several times, trying to keep them away from your sleeves. Chara is jittering.

“I,” they say, hoarse. You think you can smell something like meat cooking, but nobody’s in the kitchen, so it must be a memory. The pain in your arms definitely isn’t real. “Ree, I want to—I want to.”

Flowey straightens up at that.

“Frisk,” he says, and it’s the most serious you’ve heard him in a while. “Frisk, you hold them. Keep them away from the candles.”

Oh, you think, as the bubble of badness Chara was trying to suppress pops like a boil and their memories wash over you like—like hot oil. Hands all over your body, pain in your arms, smoke that chokes you, your own voice screaming but no one coming to your rescue, even though your mother is _right there._

You wrap your arms around yourself and rock from your heels to your toes, trying to keep your breathing even.

“I want to,” Chara says.

 _You don’t have to,_ you tell them.

“I want to,” Chara says.

“Don’t,” Flowey snaps back, urgent.

“I want to,” Chara says, and you fold your knees to bring yourself to the floor. The still-shiny scar on your right wrist is starting to smart—that old, vague remembered ache. Chara rocks. Their mind is a roiling maelstrom of _burn yourself burn yourself do it do it DO IT,_ so terrible that you have to barricade yourself against it with all the good thoughts you’ve got.

Cool, loose ropes wind around your body, just enough to hold you still, not enough to bind.

“Well, too bad,” Flowey says. “Frisk and me won’t let you. If you can’t calm down I’m gonna yell for Mom, just so you know.”

Chara breathes in, breathes out; snot and tears drip onto your shirt, warm and wet and gross. You haven’t been together for long enough that you’ve outgrown your embarrassment at how easily they cry yet.

 _Let’s go back to the living room and find something to eat,_ you cajole. _We can bring Flowey and ask Mom to start dinner and play video games, or you can knit for a while. Does that sound okay?_

“I have no idea what Frisk’s saying,” Flowey says, “but I know they’re probably talking to you, and that it’s Frisk, so you should listen to them.”

Chara scrunches your face up, their shoulders rising and then slumping. “Okay,” they say at last, a little sigh. “I—okay. Okay, you guys.”

It isn’t until Toriel’s almost done making latkes and Chara has finished their third potholder of the evening that they mumble a “thank you” to you both, raising your right wrist to kiss the scar there and then leaning over to kiss Flowey’s forehead. He hardly even complains, for once, even though he’s in the middle of a Splatoon match; you grin.

 

 

 _I wonder what happened to the other one,_ you said to Chara late one night, while the two of you were in the windowsill with their knitting and everyone else was asleep, even Flowey.

“Beats me,” Chara replied. “Why’s this coming up?”

 _I don’t know,_ you said. _I just think about them sometimes. They’re the one who encouraged me to go back for you and Flowey. We wouldn’t be able to have this without them, and when we left Mt. Ebott they just sort of disappeared, and we never even got a chance to really thank them._

Chara was quiet for a while. “I’m sure they’re doing okay,” they said in the end. “I miss them too, sometimes. Maybe it’s weird to. We never even really got to learn what kind of person they were. But they helped us, even so. They wanted to save everybody too. It was their determination and yours put together that got us this far. But—they’ve got their own life to live too, Frisk. All we can do is hope for each other.”

Thinking about your otherworldly guide hoping for your happiness from far away filled you with—not quite determination, not enough for a save point, but with warmth.

 _You’re right,_ you told them. _I hope they know that we love them just as much as they loved us, and all the monsters. I hope they know how grateful we are for all the times they saved us._

“I bet they do,” Chara said.

They returned to their knitting in silence, leaving you to reminisce in peace. The nostalgic smile on your face was half you and half them.

 

 

It’s your eleventh birthday today.

 _You’re just copying me,_ Chara says, amused, because their birthday and whatever was on their birth certificate probably wouldn’t match either. You just stick your tongue out at them, and both of you laugh. It’s a good idea, and you’re both used to your old paperwork being wrong about you.

It took a while, deciding what you wanted to wear—your old tights are way too ripped-up to wear them anymore, and you’ve outgrown everything else. But Chara pointed out a black long-sleeved shirt with a blue front and pink stripes the last time that you were at the store, and you have nice new jeans and shoes, which you guess is close enough.

You put Chara’s locket on over your shirt, hoist your backpack over your shoulder, and tuck Flowey into the uppermost pocket so that he can come too. It wouldn’t be right if he couldn’t enjoy today, anyway—the exodus was only possible thanks to him as much as it is to you and Chara.

It’s like a big block party at the foot of the mountain—mostly monsters, but pockets of human supporters too, with stalls of free food and games for the young kids. You could hear the music as soon as you stepped outside your and Toriel’s house; Mettaton, Shyren, and Napstablook flew all the way back here to Mt. Ebott to be here for the anniversary. And Mettaton being, well, himself, he decided that he had to make a big production of it all.

Toriel meets you at the crosswalk before the gathering.

“There you are, my children,” she says, beaming down at all three of you. “Now, until it is time to present your speech, you may wander about as you please, but you must stay safe and be good, all right?”

You nod, beaming back at her.

“I must meet up with Papyrus and Sans, and then Alphys for the fireworks,” she says. “If you need me, remember to either call me or come to find me yourselves.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” says Flowey, pretending to be grumpy and fooling precisely no one.

“That is very good,” Toriel tells you, and pats your head. “If you cannot reach me, find Undyne or your father. Oh, and—”

“We’ll be fine, Toriel,” Chara interrupts her.

“Yes, well,” she replies fondly. “A mother does worry, you know. Take care of each other, won’t you?”

You nod, wave goodbye to her, and dive into the mass of people.

Flowey snarls at anybody who gets too close, and Chara’s laughing breathlessly, and there’s air in your lungs and blood pumping all throughout your body and everything is so much more than you ever could have hoped for.

It’s still hard, sometimes, trying to think about what you could have done to bring them back with you properly; Flowey still seems to resent the thought of people looking at him and seeing what he used to be instead of accepting who he is now. And sometimes Chara looks at him with this horrible aching lonely tenderness that they tuck away whenever you get curious, always tinged with the strangest sense of regret.

But—

 _It’s us,_ you think to Chara giddily as you fly over the twilit sidewalks.

“What are _you_ giggling about?” Flowey asks from his perch in your backpack.

“Nothing,” Chara answers him. “Frisk’s a copycat, that’s all.”

“You guys are idiots,” he proclaims.

“We’re _your_ idiots,” Chara corrects at your prodding. “Better get used to us.”

“I _guess,”_ Flowey says. You laugh aloud.

You’re here, all three of you, and you’re _happy._ Despite everything.


End file.
